


21st Century Boy

by Brenda



Series: The Lazy Hazy Summer Daze Writing Challenge [14]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers (2012), Steve Is The World's Biggest Troll, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, The Lazy Hazy Summer Daze Writing Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve doesn't need help getting used to the future, but he doesn't mind the company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	21st Century Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fourteenth day of the **[The Lazy Hazy Summer Daze Writing Challenge](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/1074772.html)** for [](http://soul-cake-duck.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://soul-cake-duck.livejournal.com/)**soul_cake_duck** , who asked for Steve/Darcy, "the weather is terrible, let's stay in."

Steve had objected in the beginning – strenuously – to the idea of Darcy Lewis coming over to his Brooklyn apartment every week to get him caught up on the last 70 or so years of history, and to get him up to speed on current events. Fury had told him to think of her as a guide meant to ease Steve's transition as he navigated his new life, but Steve knew what Fury had really meant. He knew exactly what a babysitter looked like – and despite Darcy's unorthodox appearance and even more unorthodox attitude and way of speaking, that was exactly what she was. A personal minder for the hopelessly square, out-of-touch, oh-so-innocent Captain America, someone to make sure the Big Bad Modern World didn't swallow him whole and corrupt his delicate sensibilities.

Steve had tried not to be completely insulted by the insinuation – he knew everyone meant well – but it was a close thing. Yeah, he might _be_ a product of a bygone era, part of the Greatest Generation (whatever the hell _that_ meant), but it was like everyone had forgotten what that era had actually included: a Great Depression, a World War, attempted genocide, a megalomaniac (two, if one included Hitler) hell bent on world domination and/or destruction, as well as medical and scientific advancements that boggled the mind. Steve had seen famine and disease and poverty and war and too much death, had seen firsthand technological leaps that had changed the world, and had experienced the best and worst of what mankind could do to each other in the name of patriotism, or race or simply out of sheer boredom.

Nothing this so-called Digital Age could hope to throw at him – not aliens from far away planets or ecological disasters or terrifying world events – could compare to what he'd already seen and witnessed and lived through in his own time. And while he was grateful to have someone around to explain new technology to him, nothing he'd seen yet – except maybe the microwave oven – had come close to what he and his friends had thought would be commonplace in the 21st century. There were no flying cars, no regular shuttle trips to Mars or even the Moon (there wasn't much in the way of space travel at all, which was really disappointing); there weren't even any jet-packs, let alone personalized robots to do the heavy cleaning or mundane tasks. The best the future been able to come up with were handheld computers that also took phone calls and played music, and Steve had been reading about devices way cooler than that in the weekly comics and in short stories in _Marvel Tales_ and _Famous Fantastic Mysteries_ when he'd been a kid.

He was pretty sure he could have figured out how to swipe a credit card or use Google or the internet, and learned what the new jargon of the day meant all on his own, but he had to admit after a few weeks, the company had been pleasant. Darcy seemed nice enough, for all that she didn't seem to have an off switch and had a habit of saying every single thing she was thinking out loud, like to internalize anything would cause irreparable harm to her person. In that way, she was sort of like Tony, but easier to talk to (and was far easier on the eyes, not that Steve would ever say so out loud, mostly because he didn't want Tony arguing with him out of sheer spite) – but she meant well and she didn't seem to mind or even notice that she was nothing more than a glorified babysitter.

Fury could have done worse.

It was another bleak fall day when Darcy showed up at his doorstep with her laptop bag over her shoulder, wearing a bright pink raincoat, and carrying a cardboard tray with two cups of Starbucks coffee. (Steve did have to admit that the abundance of coffee – good coffee – was something he really learned to appreciate about this day and age.)

"Almost made it, but it started dumping on me the last block," Darcy stated, handing him the tray and shaking herself off like a dog before putting her coat up on the rack in the foyer. She fished her glasses out of her bag and slid them on, then blinked up at him and grinned, toothy and wide. "You know, if you were still in the middle of working out, you don't have to stop on my account."

"Uh..." Steve winced as he glanced down at his beat-to-hell sweatpants and thin, stretched-out black tank top. He'd actually just finished, but hadn't had time to grab a shower or change clothes. "Sorry, I could throw something else on..."

"Nah, I don't mind you bringing the eyecandy if you don't," she said, and brushed past him into the brightly lit kitchen.

Steve wondered briefly if he was supposed to thank her for the compliment – at least, he thought it was a compliment – or just let it slide, then decided it was better to keep his mouth shut, and followed her into the kitchen. "Thanks for the coffee," he said, holding up his cup. "It's nice of you to volunteer your time like this. I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience."

Darcy bustled around, setting up the laptop on the table. "Nah, it's fine," she said, as the Microsoft logo appeared on the screen. "And anything's better than standing around Dr. Foster's lab with my thumb up my ass while she spouts off about...whatever it is she does, I still have absolutely no idea, to tell you the truth, but don't tell her that. And you're way easier to deal with on learning all this than Thor was – I mean, he's a really smart guy...alien...god...whatever, don't get me wrong – but technology on Asgard is way different than it is here and he kept interrupting to extol the virtues of some Asgardian bit of tech or another. I wanted to beat him with his own hammer after about an hour."

She took the top off her cup, raided his fridge for the ½ & ½ and, finally pleased with the ratio of milk to coffee, took a small sip. "Besides, it's kinda, I dunno, cool that I get to be the one to help you out and such. I might be a footnote on your Wikipedia page one day."

Steve knew enough about this new world to know that Wikipedia had taken the place of actual physical history and reference books, so he simply nodded. "I'm sure you'll be a lot more than a footnote on anyone's page, Ms. Lewis. You don't strike me as the type to be content to be anyone's sidekick."

"Thanks, that's sweet of you to say." She offered another one of those sunny smiles, then a sidelong glance as she tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. "You might not believe this either, but, I'm, like, the envy of all of my friends because I'm getting all of this one on one time with _the_ Captain America. I mean, not that they think there's anything going on with us, I mean, none of us see you _that_ way – okay, maybe a little bit, because, well, you do have totally lickable abs and shoulders and booty for days –"

He _just_ managed not to choke on his coffee. "What?"

"– But, I dunno, it'd be weird to mack on you like that," she continued, completely oblivious to his sputtering, and waved a negligent hand at him as she took her seat at the table. "First off, you're, like, old enough to be my grandfather, and second, you're, like, an American institution. Doing you would be, like, I dunno, doing Mount Rushmore or the Washington Monument or something. And, besides, who'd want the pressure of deflowering Captain America? I mean, I guess it'd be a patriotic honor or something, but I keep picturing all of these generals and such in the corner grading my performance like weird, creepy Olympic judges. Totally kills the girl boner."

Was this really what people thought about when they thought about him? That he was some sort of old, stammering virgin who couldn't possibly have had a life or needs or a working libido? Maybe he should have ignored Clint's advice to never, ever Google himself, just so he'd have an idea of how history had remembered him.

He forced himself to take another sip of his coffee before he lashed out at her – it wasn't her fault, and she wasn't the problem. But he couldn't help the next words out of his mouth. (Call it pride or whatever you wanted – Steve had never claimed to be perfect or even close.)

"Who said anyone would be deflowering me?"

Steve was just petty enough to derive some satisfaction from seeing the way Darcy's jaw dropped. "Wait wait wait, shut the front door, are you trying to tell me you're _not_ the World's Oldest Virgin? Holy shit, who was it? Was it Peggy Carter? I've seen pics of her, she was really hot."

In for a penny, he thought. He had started it. "Uh, no. It wasn't Peggy."

Although he liked to think they would have gotten together, given enough time. And one day soon, he hoped the thought of her – the regret of having missed their chance – would fade.

She gave him a hard stare; he retaliated by pasting the most bland expression he could on his face. Not for nothing had Bucky always said that Steve had the best poker face of anyone he'd ever met. "You didn't pay for it, did you?" she finally asked. "Because I'm not sure getting a wartime blowjob by some French hooker counts. Not that I'm judging – this is a judge-free zone – but if you pay for it, it sort of goes against the virginity rules."

"Uh no." He really hoped his face wasn't as red as it felt. And if he was, he hoped she'd put it down to the lingering effects of his workout than any embarrassment over talking about his sex life to a stranger. Even if it was all his fault they were having the discussion in the first place. "I never paid for it."

"Hmm." She tapped a finger to her chin. "If I guess, you'll let me know, right?"

"If you guess, sure," he answered, knowing full well there was no way she ever would, and flipped a chair around, straddling it. "In the meantime, why don't we get started with today's lesson. Current European geography, right?"

"Don't think you're going to weasel out of this," she warned, shaking a finger at him like a schoolteacher. "I'm not going to forget."

He thought about telling her it wouldn't matter if she forgot or not, since he had nothing to hide and no reason to be ashamed, but that was a conversation for a different day. Everyone could think what they wanted about him – it wouldn't change the truth.

He gave her another small smile instead. "I wouldn't dream of it, ma'am."

***

**Author's Note:**

> You can now find me on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com/). :)


End file.
